by Neil Hunter
Bodie didn’t waste too much time pondering the why and wherefore. That could come later. He hooked back the Winchester’s hammer, starting to come to his feet as he turned.
He caught a quick glimpse of three figures, yards away.
They were somehow familiar. Then a rifle blasted. The bullet howled off the rock just beside Bodie. He jerked to one side instinctively. Then a second shot. He felt it clip the side of his head. The day exploded around him. White-hot pain lanced deep into his skull. He felt the rush of blood down his face, felt it soak the collar of his shirt.
And then the bright sunlight hazed, faded, began to darken.
He fell backwards, and in his mind was the fact that there was nothing behind him except for the long slope-leading down to the basin. Nothing at all ... and that was what he felt himself falling into. A deep, dark, soundless void ...
Bodie opened his eyes to blinding light. He jerked his head to one side and groaned at the sudden, pulsing burst of pain inside his skull. He held himself motionless until the pain had subsided, fading to a nagging ache. Then he opened his eyes again, found himself staring at the ground.
He realized that he had been lying on his back, staring skywards. and had opened his eyes in the direction of the sun. The pain had come from the furrow left along the side of his skull by the second bullet he’d heard tired. Another inch and he would have ended up with a damn sight more than a headache! And Bodie knew now who had fired those shots at him.
Lonny Cagle! It had been Cagle and his two partners.
Still determined to go after Fargo’s bunch, and still mad enough to try and back shoot Bodie! He sat up angrily, gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache in his skull.
All right, you sons of bitches! You had your chance and made a mess of it ! I damn well won’t!
He peered round and saw that he had slipped about twelve feet down the slope after going over the edge, coming to rest on a flat ledge. It had probably saved his life.
Bodie spotted his rifle lying a few feet away and reached for it. As he climbed slowly to his feet, aware of the rising giddiness washing over him, he wondered what had happened after he’d fallen. Why hadn’t Cagle and company come down to finish him? The answer seemed obvious.
The shots would have brought Fargo’s bunch outside on the run. The outcome must have been a confrontation between Fargo’s men and Cagle and company. Either Cagle and his partners were dead, or Fargo had driven them off.
Which brought Bodie to another question. Where was Fargo’s bunch now? Bodie had noticed that there wasn’t any more smoke drifting from the chimney of the big hut.
He climbed slowly up the incline, easing himself carefully over the rim. The first thing he saw was the body sprawled out on the bloody ground. Bodie noted the two ragged bullet holes in the back. He turned the body over with the toe of his boot. The bullets had caused much more damage on their way out through the chest. Bodie glanced at the face, It was Doyle. So that left Cagle and Bridger. If they were still alive.
He walked unsteadily to where he’d concealed his horse. The animal was still there. It glanced round at him as he freed the reins, following quietly as Bodie led it out of the cleft in the rock face. jamming his rifle in the sheath Bodie mounted up, gathering his reins, and sent his horse down the slope, making for the floor of the basin.
The camp appeared deserted. Nothing moved. No sound disturbed the tranquility. Bodie knew, however, that such appearances didn’t always hold true. He drew his Colt, easing back the hammer, and held the gun against his thigh as he took his horse along the rutted street running between the weathered buildings.
He drew rein as he neared the building where he’d originally spotted smoke. There, at the edge of the boardwalk, was where Snake had paused, Bodie glanced along the street, checking each building in turn. Again nothing. He glanced up to roof level, scanning the likely spots a man might use for concealment. He spent five long minutes observing, sitting in his saddle in apparent ease. Under the surface he was wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch.
Finally satisfied Bodie dismounted and walked his horse the rest of the way to the building Fargo had been using. He tied the horse to the hitch rail, stepped up on the boardwalk, and moved to the door.
It opened at his touch, swinging inwards on dry, rasping hinges. Bodie squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to the shadowed gloom of the interior as he stepped over the threshold.
The first thing he saw as he moved inside was the naked form of a black-haired girl with wide, frightened eyes. She was on her knees beside a battered bed. A man lay on the bed, propped up with grubby pillows. Bloodstained bandages thickened his left thigh. In the man’s hands was a cut-down American Arms 12-gauge shotgun. And the twin bores of the reduced barrels were pressed firmly against the girl’s left breast, just beneath the jutting rise of the brown nipple.
‘Come on in, Bodie,’ the man said lightly. He smiled, showing discolored, uneven teeth. 'An’ close the door. We don’t want the lady to catch cold, now do we?’
Bodie heeled the door shut. He remained where he was, stone-faced, not letting slip the fact that he was burning with anger. Mainly at himself for walking right in on this setup. He knew full well that the life of the girl depended, upon the way he behaved. And until he had gained any knowledge that might be forthcoming he couldn’t afford to precipitate any kind of violent action.
‘Bodie, you want to toss the gun on the bed?’ the man suggested, still smiling. Still deadly.
Bodie did as he was asked.
‘Makes for a friendlier atmosphere,’ the man said. ‘Gives us time for a talk.’
‘About what?’ Bodie asked.
The man stopped smiling. He sat upright, though still keeping the shotgun pressed against the girl’s breast.
‘Don’t give me any crap, Bodie! I reckon I won’t be far out if I say you been trailin’ us all the way from Madison! I’ll bet that goddamn town put up a bounty on us! That right, Bodie? They lay a stack of bills out for us? Dead or alive! Preferably dead?’
‘You do all the figurin’ you want, Ryan,’ Bodie replied, using the man’s name for the first time.
‘There’s a bounty all right,’ Ryan snapped. ‘You wouldn’t be around if there wasn’t, Bodie! Takes the smell of money to drag you out of your hole! Ain’t that right, Bodie, you stinkin, backshootin’ asshole?’
‘If you want it that way. I never argue with a man holding a cocked gun.’
Ryan jabbed the shotgun muzzles into the soft flesh of the breast. The girl whimpered softly. A dry chuckle rose in Ryan’s throat. ‘She’s more used to hands on her tit,’ he grinned. ‘And a hell of a lot more ’tween her legs! Hey
Bodie, maybe I’ll let you have one last ride!’
‘Before what? Bodie asked mildly.
Ryan sniggered at his own cleverness. ‘Why before I kill you, Bodie! Before I blow your goddamn head off with both barrels of this here scattergun! You’re a dead man, Bodie — a dead man!’
Chapter Eight
Brad Ryan swung the shotgun away from the girl’s breast and lined it up on Bodie’s chest. He seemed to be amused by the situation, and couldn't resist a low chuckle.
‘Jesus, I wish Linc was here right now! He’d purely be jealous if he knew I’d got the drop on Bodie!’
‘I’d say he's a long way off and going further,’ Bodie said, watching for Ryan’s reaction.
‘Yeah? What the hell do you know?’ Ryan jabbed a finger in the direction of his bandaged leg. ‘Only reason I ain’t with him right now is ’cause of this damn leg. Linc’s goin’ to leave word with a feller he knows an’ get me a doctor up here.’
Bodie grinned. ‘And I’ll bet that feller’s Kimble. Back in Adobe.’
Ryan glared at him. ‘So what if it is? What you tryin' to say, Bodie?’
‘Just wondering why Fargo should waste time on you now he’s clear of this place.’
A dark flush crept across Ryan’s gaunt face. ‘Balls!’ he snap
ped. ‘Linc ain’t going to forget me!’
‘How’d you get that leg?’ Bodie asked.
‘Three gun-happy bastards showed up and started in on shooting. We rode up to take care of ’em. Got one of ’em. Other two got away. Not before they put a slug in my leg. Hit me pretty bad. Broke the bone. The boys got me back down here and patched me up best they could. Then Linc started frettin’ about how there might be posses out lookin’ for us an’ if they was gettin’ this close he didn’t want to get caught in a place like this. He figured it best we up stakes and head out fast. Find us somewhere else to hole up while we wait for ... ’ Ryan broke off, glaring at Bodie as he realized he was giving too much away.
‘While you wait for Kimble to bring in a buyer for the statue?’ Bodie shook his head. ‘You ain’t telling me anything I don’t know, Ryan. But I’ll tell you something. Fargo ain’t about to get out free and clear. Too many people are dead because of that statue, and a lot more are going to be dead before it’s over.’
Ryan’s left cheek twitched with the tension building up inside him. He jerked the shotgun upwards, aiming the ugly weapon at Bodie’s face. ‘You want it now, Bodie? You son of a bitch! Now?’
‘No! No!’
The outburst came from the girl. She threw out her arms in despair, as if in supplication to Ryan. ‘Por Dios! Do not kill him! Has there not been enough Death ... ’
The girl’s frantic outburst, her sudden gesture, caught Ryan’s already jangled nerves. He lashed out with his left hand, slapping the girl across the side of the head, driving her to the floor.
‘Stay out of my way, you goddamn puta!’
Bodie had been waiting for his chance, hoping that Ryan would let his feelings get the better of him. If that chance arose, he knew that his moment would be brief, and he would have time for one try at Ryan.
Now that moment had arrived, and Bodie made his try. In the scant second when Ryan’s eyes flickered towards the girl and the shotgun wavered a fraction.
He lunged off to the right, reaching across his body for the knife sheathed on the left side of his belt. The knife he had taken from a man who had tried to kill him. A man called Silverbuck, a half-breed hired killer. The knife was a finely balanced, heavy weapon. Bodie had spent long hours getting the feel of the knife, learning its speed, its weight. How it trued itself during Bight. He could throw that knife from any position and be sure to hit the target he'd chosen.
And right now the target was Brad Ryan. As the knife slid from the sheath Bodie reversed it, catching it by the gleaming tip of the blade. His arm rose above his right shoulder, then snapped forward, releasing the knife at the correct angle and velocity. It was no more than a silver blur crossing the room.
It struck as Ryan’s eyes resettled on Bodie. Ryan was bringing the shotgun round, his fingers already pressing back on the triggers, when the long blade cut its way into his throat, cleaving soft flesh and arteries alike. The rigid length of steel, cold and alien to his senses, tore a scream of pure terror from Ryan’s throat. His fingers yanked back on the shotgun’s triggers, and the weapon exploded with a brutal roar. The double charge hit the door where Bodie had been standing only seconds before, splintering the wood and blasting a large hole clear through the panel.
The second the knife had left his fingers Bodie had gone to the floor, rolling in towards the foot of the bed. Now he caught hold of the base of the bed, lifting as he rose to his feet, tipping the bed over onto its side. Ryan, still screaming, thrashing wildly about as he tried to claw the knife from his throat, was thrown to the floor. Coughing, choking, spitting gouts of blood, Ryan crawled across the floor, slamming up against the wall. He twisted over onto his back, body arching in pain, his face darkening from the lack of air brought on by his senseless screaming. Bright, spurts of blood jetted from the wound around the blade of the knife, dappling Ryan’s clothing, spattering the wall.
Gradually his thrashing eased and he slumped back against the wall, chest heaving raggedly. His breath rasped in his throat and bloody froth dribbled from his slack mouth.
Kicking aside the dirty, bloody blankets from the up-turned bed Bodie picked up his Colt. He took a passing glance at the dying Ryan, then crossed the room to where the naked girl lay hunched in a corner. ‘You can get up now,’ he said, an edge to his voice.
The girl lifted her head, peering up at him through a tangle of hair. She glanced over her shoulder and a shudder ran through her body as she saw Ryan’s sprawled, bloody figure.
‘I want my clothes,’ she murmured, trying to cover her nakedness with hands and arms.
Bodie spotted a pile of clothing lying in a corner of the room. He picked them up and tossed them to the girl. She climbed to her feet, turning her back to him as she dressed. Bodie watched her, appreciating the supple curve of her slim back, the sensual swell of hips and buttocks, the sturdy, firm limbs.
‘How’d you get here?’ Bodie asked.
The girl muttered something in Spanish that Bodie couldn’t understand. She spun on her heel, dressed now, her embarrassment gone. ‘It was that pig Kimble. He took me from Mama Delgado’s house and gave me to Linc Fargo and his men. They brought me up here. All the time they use me. Sometimes more than one at a time. They were all crazy. I don’t mind hard work, but it never stopped. Busta, I tell them! Busta! That’s enough! But all they do is hit me and use me again! And not a silver dollar do I get!’ The girl’s hard face turned to stone, eyes gleaming with some inner thought. Then she said 'I will make that pig, Kimble, pay! One day I will get him! When he sleeps I will cut off his cojones with a rusted knife ! ’
‘With all respect to your feelings for Kimble, honey, I just need to know the answer to one question.’
The girl eyed him for a time, distrust shining in her eyes at first. Then she shrugged, ‘Ask ! ’
‘Where’s Fargo taking that damn statue this time?’
‘First to see Kimble, and then on down towards the border. Fargo will do his waiting in Mexico. In Chihuahua somewhere. That is all I know, Bodie.’
‘It’ll have to do.’
Bodie crossed to where Ryan lay. The man was dead.
Reaching down, Bodie yanked his knife from Ryan’s throat. He wiped off the blood on Ryan’s shirt, then sheathed the knife. Turning he caught the girl’s bold stare.
‘You are hurt,’ she said.
Bodie half smiled, remembering the ragged gash left by the bullet that had almost killed him. He realized he must have looked a mess with all the dried blood caking the side of his face.
‘I ran into some old friends,’ he said,
The girl frowned. ‘Friends? If they are your friends, I should not like to meet any of your enemies.’
‘That’s just the way I feel about it,’ Bodie admitted. ‘What do they call you, girl?’
The dark-haired girl placed a slim hand on one hip and tilted her head. ‘You are interested?’
'Damned if I’m going to go on calling you girl,’ Bodie snapped.
The girl pouted, then her taut features relaxed and Bodie saw that behind the hard mask lay a face which might even be called pretty. ‘My name is Cristabel!’
‘Well, Cristabel, it looks like we got ourselves a long ride back to Adobe. I’ve only got one horse so we’ll have to ride double.’
Cristabel smiled, tossing back her head to move the thick hair from her face. ‘I will not mind sharing a saddle with you, Bodie, or anything you wish to share.’
‘Get your things together,’ Bodie said hurriedly. Cristabel was too much of a woman to go round offering things so generously. If he hadn’t been in so much of a hurry he might have taken up her offer right there and then.
‘First let me do something about your face. Are you not in pain?’
‘Only when I laugh,’ Bodie growled, then smiled at the puzzled expression crossing Cristabel’s face.
‘I do not understand,’ she said.
‘When I’ve got time I’ll explain.’
‘Si. But f
irst I need clean water and something to wipe away the blood.’
‘Got something in my saddlebags,’ Bodie said, turning across the room. He jerked open the shotgun-blasted door and stepped outside. The hot sun struck him with physical force, heat dancing in shimmering waves across the empty street.
And that was when the silence was shattered by the abrupt, heavy blast of a gunshot.
The bullet burned past Bodie’s left cheek, whacking a long sliver of wood from the doorpost just behind him.
As he threw a rapid glance up the street, Bodie’s right hand automatically reached for the Colt, sliding it from the holster, thumb dogging back the hammer even as the weapon was lifting. He caught a glimpse of two hard-ridden horses coming fast between the empty buildings, dust rising in a pale cloud behind them. And in the saddles two familiar figures.
Lonny Cagle and Bridger!
Bastards, Bodie thought, they just wouldn’t let go!
They seemed bound and determined to get themselves killed. And Bodie had no intention of letting it end up any other way.
He did no more thinking about the matter. He just acted. Instinctively. Out of a natural desire to survive.
The sound of the first shot was still heavy in the air as Bodie moved. He ran forward, angling across the dusty street as Cagle and Bridger thundered towards him. In the few seconds that elapsed before they were almost on him, Cagle and Bridger found they were having to readjust their aim. Bodie, bobbing and weaving as he crossed the street, presented an elusive target to a man on horseback.
And neither Cagle or Bridger had been expecting Bodie to come out and meet them head on.
Bridger tried a quick shot, but he was using his left hand because of the bandage on his right, and the bullet went wide.
Then there was no more time for shooting. Cagle and Bridger drew level with Bodie, went on by him, desperately hauling back on the reins as they tried to halt their racing horses. At the last moment Bodie threw himself aside, away from the slashing hooves. He went down on one shoulder, rolling a couple of times, then corrected his movement. Twisting round as he came to his feet he yanked up the big Colt, peering into the swirling cloud of dust rising around the pair of riders. The moment he was able to identify a target he leveled the Colt and pulled the trigger.
